No Place Like Gnome

This arrived in the post today

An early Christmas pressie from an Australian buddy!

A  zombie garden gnome

I've seen everything

Hey ho

Sometimes.......

.....we all need a fat arse upon which we can rest our weary head

The Unwanted

Yesterday two perfectly sound warrens, left their new hen house in the Ukrainian village to run the gauntlet of the other hens. Their previous owner had an overwhelming rat  problem and confided to a work colleague that the hens were to be culled when he got home. Luckily the colleague knows me, so took it on herself  to bring them around
She knew I would take them in.
This morning a third warren arrived, the last garden pet of one of the village school kids.She arrived inside an old bread bin.
The usual platitudes were rolled out.
I've heard them all.........and I've smiled an understanding smile at each one....for what's the point of showing you're narked?

" it's cruel to keep just one at home"
" She's well loved...but...... "
" we thought you might like ....?"
" They're good hens..."
Ŷadder, yadder, yadder

I've just worked out just how many unwanted animals live at Bwthyn y llan. The list is sobering.
22 assorted hens, two cockerels, four ducks,1 gander and 1 Canada goose.
add to the mix a rescue black cat with huge golden eyes and a bulldog who was well loved but who was " let go" to have a better life and we are talking nearly 30 souls.
30 unwanted living things, many of whom were discarded without a second thought

The warren in the bread bin is now sat quietly in a spare hen house. In the great scheme of things, it's only a little life, I know that.
Unwanted stuff, should be old clothes, magazines, broken crockery ....junk
The unwanted shouldn't be animals.
Animals that rely on someone to care for them.

My OCD is improving

It's December 3rd

And I haven't written my Christmas Cards yet

What do you think of my design?

Titter ye not!

I wanted something amusing to happen today.

Something that would have made me chuckle.

At dawn there were a dozen or so escapee sheep in the back and front garden

That didn't make me laugh

Indeed

I stuck my head back under the duvet , so I didn't have to be the one

to start rounding the stupid buggers up

I cleaned out the hen houses

That didn't make me laugh

I went to the post office and stood in the queue for 23 minutes

That didn't make me laugh either.

I've cleaned windows,

Polished the furniture,

given Phyllis Diller the last of her antibiotics,

bleached the toilet and the kitchen floor,

and 

Not even a smile!

So it was with a sigh
I saw this
It did make me titter!

Flouncing For Wales

Sometimes the only way to go is to indulge yourself in a flounce

The ward sister at work asked me to do one too many things at 6 am on a bloody awful night shift

And I threw myself rather energetically into a flounce that would have 

gotten the thumbs up from Scarlett O'Hara

I was in such an uncharacteristically bad mood

I could have quite easily bitch slapped a nun

I blame it all on this cold, which is kind of lingering

Anyhow

I fell asleep in the chair when I got home 

Watched over by one very anxious face

And

The only people I have seen today is my sister who called off to off me a new hen house

And a collegue from work who wanted to rehome 2 hens 

which he had placed in an oversized sharps box

After they had gone 

I took myself upstairs and flounced on the bed

" fiddle de dee"

I 

Cottage News Monday Morning

Well we had lesbians yesterday, relationship discussions on Saturday and a buggered up Phyllis Diller a day before that....what little delights have I got for you today dear reader
Well it's an eclectic mix today
If you are not interested in 1940's sewing box bargins, Phyllis Diller rehab, chilli sucking Bulldogs and the last of The Walking Dead blog posts until Febuary walk away now.

Now I am not a huge fan of lifestyle blogs ( apart from Chania's Razzmatazz that is) but spurred on by Tom Stephenson's recent bed wetting blog entry on candlesticks, I thought I would share with you my latest acquisition for the cottage

I have been looking, for a small occassional table it sit next to my armchair for ages now and it has been a nightmare given the fact that the cottage is so compact. I saw this 1940s oak sewing box  in a local craft shop a while ago but couldn't justify spending 40 quid on it....so I decieded to slowly chip away at the shop owner with a weekly visit and offer a regular 25 quid for it.
I know it was probably bought for a tenner, but small tables don't come around often so I was pleased when the shop owner finally agreed.
It's not pretty but it is bloody useful!
I've made a large pot of chilli this morning , only having to stop to lavage Winnie's mouth out with two water soaked tea towels after she had hoovered  up a few stray chilli flakes from the kitchen floor. The only good thing about a bulldog's mouth is that it resembles that of a pigmy hippo's.
It opens like a gin trap.
Anyway the other animal who has been in the wars recently is , of course , Phyllis Diller.
Here she is this morning with room mate Bodica.

Still a little muddy but more like her own self...it's nice to have a little health scare victory once in a while.

And before I go to bed again ( I'm on night shift later) I will give a tiny mention to The Walking Dead mid season finale which shows in the UK tonight..... Being a geek I managed to find several videos of the episode on YouTube ( before they were pulled) so early this morning I managed to watch it.

(Beware spoilers) 

I am a little exasperated with the producers of the show, as every mid season finale ( what's with this new phenomenon of MID season finales btw?) someone of note gets killed....it's a silly and pointless tradition as the event takes president over the narrative which is a shame.

Today Poor Beth gets the treatment, which is a shame cos I quite got to like her big doe eyed southern charm.......

No more Walking Dead posts now  until Febuary ............most of you would be glad to hear.......

Hey ho!

Memories of Fighting Lesbians

This week our pub was taken over by two manager landladies.
I only know this because three separate people have told me, when I have been out with the dogs throughout the week.
One told me that Chris and I were no longer " The only gays in the village"
So I am presuming that a lesbian couple has taken charge.
But of course, it's always dangerous to presume anything.
Not until you get the info from the horses mouth
When the third person, commented with a knowing look that two ladies were in charge of the pub, I decided to have a little fun
The conversation went roughly as follows
Villager 1: " There are two women managing  at The Crown" said with a theatrically wide eyed smile
Me: " Great stuff.....a lot of people commented that the previous manager was a bit stand offish"
Villager 1: " Have you met the " girls" yet?"
Me: " no what are they like?"
Villager 1: " Well...they ARE very friendly and nice enough.........you'll have something in common of course !" ( another knowing look)
Me: " why? .........Do they keep chickens?"
Villager 1 ( thrown for a moment) " errr no, I don't think so"
Me" oh that's a shame"
I left it at that

Speaking of lesbians and pubs, when I was single and living in Sheffield , I would occasionally go to " The Cossack " one of the few gay bars in the city.
It was a dive of a place, situated between the University buildings and the railway station, and I remember one Thursday night many many years ago now , when a massive fist fight erupted in the centre of a large contingent of very butch women.
Apparently the argument started when two bulldog dykes fell out over a particularly sweet looking lipstick lesbian!
There is nothing more dangerous than a butch lesbian scorned
Bar stools and several pint glasses flew, the swearing was worse than anything that could have been heard on the terraces of Hillsborogh football club as lesbians from across South Yorkshire seemed to join in with the bar room brawl, and I remember killing myself laughing,when quite suddenly, a very camp and frail elderly man clutching a rather battered cocktail staggered out amongst the denim dungarees gasping for breath with a hand around his throat
" the horror! .......oh......The horror!" he cried
God love an old queen!